


Case #0152303: Zero Gravity Sensations Day Spa

by mewzilla



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Original Statement, Statement Fic, Too Many Bones, Too Many Joints, breaking bones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewzilla/pseuds/mewzilla
Summary: Statement of Victoria Lee, aged 29, regarding an unsettling experience at Zero Gravity Sensations Day Spa.
Kudos: 4





	Case #0152303: Zero Gravity Sensations Day Spa

**Author's Note:**

> Statement recorded in the Season 1 timeframe.

<click>

_Statement of Victoria Lee, aged 29, regarding an unsettling experience at Zero Gravity Sensations Day Spa. Original statement given twenty-third March, two thousand fifteen. Statement recorded by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London._

_Statement Begins._

I hadn't been sleeping well, or much at all, for months, really. There was a...situation...at work that had been stressing me out. Still is, really, though hopefully not for much longer. And ... and that seems a strange place to start, but perhaps the lack of sleep will help explain things. I mean, even now, I like to tell myself that it was all a dream--nightmare, really--that my body gave in to the need for sleep and my mind, kept too long from dreaming, snapped and that is why I--

But it wasn't a dream. It wasn't. I know that it wasn't. This...this face that I have now reminds me every time I look into a mirror that it. was not. a dream.

Perhaps I should start again. You know, start from the beginning, or, actually, maybe not quite so close to the beginning, what with the lack of sleep and all.

Amanda Hollaway, my, um, roommate, got a gift certificate for a full day pampering package at Zero Gravity Sensations Day Spa. She'd got some sort of half-off deal from one of those “experience websites” or something, but she said that she wanted me to have it, because I looked like I could use it. Which, I guess, was her polite way of saying, "You look like shit, Vic, and if you won't do something about it, I will." She’s subtle like that.

I tried to decline--I don't particularly _like_ being touched by people, especially by people I don't know, and massage involves a lot of, you know, _touching_ \--but Amanda was having none of it, insisting I needed to relax, that it couldn't hurt, that self-care was important and work wouldn't explode if I wasn't there for one day, and she knew that I had plenty of vacation time to spare so don't tell her that I can't afford to take a day off. 

And so...I gave in, asked her to schedule something for me if she wanted me to do this so badly, and promised I'd put in for time off on whatever day she picked. Mostly to make her shut up about it, I'll admit. I, uh, I was never very good at enforcing boundaries.

She did. She scheduled me in for a 10am pampering the following week. First available slot, she told me. Massage, facial, brow shaping, private sauna and hot tub, and I think maybe there was a prawns-nibbling-your-toes bit, too? I don’t know.

I took the day off, had coffee and some porridge with fig jam, then walked down High Street.

Zero Gravity Sensations was wedged up against the chips shop and in the moment, it seemed a little bit odd that I'd never noticed it before, or _anything_ there before, because I was in that chips shop at least twice a month when I was at work late.

The windows of the spa were tinted and covered in velvet curtains, black with flecks of silver, so the windows looked like two huge fields of stars. So far so good, I guess, I mean, it was sort of my aesthetic. The lobby had those dripping icicle lights hanging from the ceiling, and the walls and ceiling and carpet were all black. When the door closed behind me, it was like the air left the room. All sound from the street was cut off and the rustle of my coat as I took it off was inordinately loud.

The person at the counter looked up slowly, pursed their lips, then smiled, welcomed me to Zero Gravity Sensations where “we bring out the you in you”, and asked if I was Victoria. And I say asked, but, "ask" feels like the sort of thing a person does out loud, in a normal speaking voice. This wasn't like that, and the sound of my full name in a hissed whisper raised the hairs on my arms. I said that, yes, I was Vic, or maybe I was flustered enough that I called myself Vickie, I don't know. I don't suppose it's important. I told them I had a coupon. My voice was loud, so very loud, and I do know that I cringed at the sound of it.

Their smile got wider and they told me my room was ready and waiting--all cozy warm to chase away the chill--asked me to follow them, please, without taking my payment, or my credit card, or anything. They opened the door to the left of the counter, and the lobby felt like it was inhaling, just sucking in a long loving breath and then holding it. The bells above the door didn't jingle as they swayed.

The walls of the hallway were black, and, like, three dimensional? As if someone had taken an impossibly huge piece of paper, folded it down at odd angles, then unfolded it and stuck it to the wall. There were dips and mountains that didn't form any sort of regular pattern, and it seemed, out the corner of my eye, that the points would sometimes glimmer in the blackness.

The hallway stretched farther than it looked like it should be able to and I felt like I was being pulled forward, even when I stopped suddenly because the receptionist had stopped suddenly in front of a door. They opened it and gestured me into the room, told me to undress and put on the robe, then have a seat and my--and I'm not sure what they said, my esthetician? doctor? massage therapist? guide? no, no it wasn't any of those, it was a word full of static and sharp jutting edges that left a vaguely word-shaped hole in the air--they would be with me in a moment.

The room was dim, and the same aching utter quiet as the lobby. A massage table stood in the center of the room only it looked more like some sort of ritual altar, all padded leather and black velvet skirting. Who puts a skirt on a massage table? 

There's also some blacklight in the room, but I'm not sure where it's coming from. I could tell it was there because the lint on my t-shirt glowed and so did the nicotine stains on my fingernails. The walls and ceiling and floor were dotted with pin-prick stars of white and purple and blue, splattered and splashed in swirls of galaxies. And for a moment I'm suspended in space.

I'm not sure how long that moment lasted, but it was broken by a crackle from a speaker and a hiss-whispered voice asking if I'm ready.

Ready? Oh, undressed. For the massage.

I tell them almost, ask for another minute. A long low moan drowns out the crackle-hiss from the speaker then cuts off abruptly, and suddenly I'm worried that maybe Zero Gravity Sensations _Day Spa_ isn't quite on the up-and-up, you know? Like, maybe this is a "massage parlour" and not a massage parlour.

Except that the moan hadn't quite sounded like something a person enjoying themself might make.

My hands shook as I took off my clothes, every move I made exceedingly loud. I left them in a little pile on the floor--same as I do at home--and slipped the robe on. The robe was black, and even the most hardcore retronostalgia goth would be having a bit of a "Come on now" moment by this point. The robe was also soft. And sticky. Sticky-soft, soft-sticky? Like a sea anemone sting only everywhere it touched me--not painful, just weird and unsettling--and I'd almost rather be sitting there naked than wearing it.

The moment I sat down on the massage table, the door opened and I prayed there wasn't a camera. The estheticiandoctormassagetherapistguide smiled the sort of smile that said "I don't make this face very often". They told me to take off my robe and lay face-down on the table.

Self-consciously, I did so. The smell of leather and loam filled my head and they hiss-whispered against my ear, "Shall we begin?"

I nodded. I wasn't sure what else to do at that point. If I'd been smart, I'd have bolted then and there.

I wasn't smart.

But for a little while, everything was okay. Large hands heavy hands stroked massage oil over my back and shoulders, strong slender fingers pressed lightly at the places my muscles were most tense.

This went on for a little while in an inexplicable silence. No soothing soundscape, no waterfall, no Enya.

In spite of the uneasy quiet, I think I had almost managed to relax. I mean, I wasn't going to fall asleep on the table, but I also wasn't flinching each time their hands left my body then returned.

I was almost relaxed.

Almost.

And then...

Then. It. Hurt.

I know there are people who say that sometimes a good deep massage will hurt, and, while I am not a massage connoisseur, I did date someone who was training to become a massage therapist for a couple of months. We broke up when they told me that they really wanted to practice more often and really I was barely holding it together with two massages a week. So I can say that there is the good kind of pain from a massage, and there is the bad kind of pain from a massage.

I can also say that _this_ was neither of those things. This was more than fingers pressing into over-tight muscle, it was fingers digging through my skin, burrowing through my flesh, snapping bone and I screamed. And screamed. And screamed. And the walls drank in my screams and the room remained silent.

Eventually, the voice hiss-whispered against my ear and told me to turn over. I couldn't move. I couldn't make myself move. I wanted to, I wanted more than anything to do what I was told to do, because maybe that would make the pain stop.

The demand came again and when I did not comply, my body was moving, lifting, flipping, then landing hard on the massage table. Like I was some sort of human pancake.

Too-long fingers stroked my eyebrows, my cheek bones, my jaw. I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn't even do that.

Have you ever been having a nightmare and woke up still strung out with fear? Have you ever found yourself laying in the dark and filled with complete certainty that you are no longer alone and that something horrible is about to happen? Have you been pinned in place by terror, unable to get enough air into your lungs to scream? Do you know that feeling?

I do. I do I do I do I do. Oh ghod, I wish I didn’t.

_Archivist's note: Throughout Ms Lee's written statement, there are water droplets that have caused the ink to bleed and smudge in places, though the statement remains legible. But at this point, half of a page has been rendered indecipherable and there are places where the paper has torn._

_Statement Continues._

I woke up on the lounge in my flat with no memory of leaving Zero Gravity Sensations, no idea how I got back to the flat, how I got back into my clothes. I sat up quickly then flopped back down, as if my body didn't quite remember how to do things anymore. My muscles burned and my joints, too. I ached in places I hadn't even known that I had. I tried again and this time got up and stumbled across the room. 

My jacket hung on the peg beside the front door and I shoved my hand into the pocket, curled my fingers around my wallet, tried not to think about the too-long fingers that had touched my face, pulling at my skin and bone like they were putty. 

Everything was inside of my wallet still: ID, cash, credit cards. My heart was pounding in too many places and I took a deep breath, squinted at my photo on my ID. It was smudged, blurred, I don't know, like someone had smeared ink over it? I think, now, that that wasn't the case; I think, _now_ , that my brain had been trying to protect me for as long as it could. 

The front door opened, then closed, and the sound was so normal I felt queasy. Amanda tossed her keys into the bowl beside the door and looked at me, said, "Wow."

I asked her, "Wow what?" And she told me that I looked amazing.

"Do I?" I asked and Amanda nodded. I didn't feel amazing. I felt... I didn't know what I felt, but it was not amazing. My throat ached and my chest was tight, like I'd screamed too loud for too long, like I was coming down with bronchitis. My face ached like I'd been smacked by a brick, so maybe a sinus infection? Though it had come on quickly if that's what it was. And beneath all of that, beneath the pain in my joints and muscles, I just felt _wrong_.

I called in sick to work the next day, went to the doctor. The doctor... saw... no problems. I begged for an x-ray when bending my arm in a place it shouldn't bend did not draw even a hint of concern. Do you know what the doctor said? He said, "Everything seems fine."

And I could not make him understand that _it hurts_ , that _nothing seemed fine_ to me. 

So that was, I guess, two months ago now? May-- maybe three? Time was a little fucked up for me initially as I called in sick for the first... week? Two? I'm not sure. I'm just glad I didn't get fired. Wouldn't have wanted to go back to live with my parents at _this_ point. I think I'm starting to get used to it now--to the constant burn in my muscles and the jolts of pain that shoot out from my new joints like fireworks, to the way that I bend and move--and that terrifies me.

I avoid High Street, though. I can't even bring myself to ask Amanda to get take away for me from the chips shop anymore, which is a shame; they were my favorite. 

The worst of it--aside from the number of pillows I've gone through and feeling like I'm two interactions away from someone telling me that the 90s called and they want their velvet cloak back--is that no one else seems to notice just how different I look. How _wrong_ my face is now, or the way my shoulder blades seem too sharp and too long and all together not the direction a person's shoulder blades should be--and I took an anatomy class in college I know they don't work like that--or that I have too many joints, too many bones. 

"Have you had your hair colored?" they'll ask. Or, "The cut of that dress really suits you," they'll say. Or, "Did you get new glasses?" And I do not wear glasses. Not even sunglasses. I never have, and I _couldn't_ now, even if I wanted to. Getting them to fit around all of _this_ just isn't possible; I actually tried. 

I thought--once I stopped trying to pretend that this wasn't happening, once I acknowledged that I was not just walking around in a nightmare that I might never wake up from--that there might be some good to come from it, you know, with the situation at work, but no; I don't even get the satisfaction of feeling my boss flinch away from me when he puts his hand on my shoulder or pats my back for a job well done. Though, now the awkward when he does it isn't just "Why the hell is he touching me at all", it’s also the way he twists himself up to put his hand down on the places that aren't quite as wrong. I don't even think he realizes that's what he's doing.

Ghod, I don't even know why I came here. Amanda told me that I should just leave a bad review if I hated the place so much, if I wasn't happy with the experience, but that she didn't see what I had to complain about, and I feel really terrible about hurting her feelings when she was trying to do something nice for me. So, I suppose, whoever reads this, I absolutely cannot recommend Zero Gravity Sensations Day Spa. -11/10, would not even walk down the sidewalk in front of it, definitely avoid the massage and facial and brow sculpting, not even the amazing lobby aesthetic can redeem this place.

_Statement Ends._

_There are no notes on Ms Lee's appearance attached to this case, which could mean there was nothing worth noting. Or it could mean that the notes have been misfiled. It is entirely possible that Ms Lee's experience as written in in this statement could be, as Ms Lee said, "all a dream," or a nightmare. Another possible explanation is hallucinations caused by severe long-term sleep deprivation._

_Follow up for this case has been unproductive. There is no Zero Gravity Sensations Day Spa on High Street, or on any other street, and no record of a business license or operating permit bearing that name. As for Ms Lee, a missing persons report was filed by Amanda Hollaway four months after Ms Lee's statement was given. That case remains open. Ms Lee's mother was unwilling to speak with Sasha about Ms Lee, except to say, "Victoria wouldn't tell me what moisturizer she was using now. She **insisted** that she hadn't changed her skincare regimen, but I know she was lying. She was always so self-centered, refused to think of me at all." _

_I do not know that there is any additional follow-up that can be done on this case given the lack of a location to investigate, and Ms Lee's disappearance._

_Recording Ends._

  
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End file.
